Prologue
It's cold.
I feel as light as a feather.
I'm drifting in a breeze. I know I'm asleep and this is a dream, but when I open my eyes I'm hovering over a manor made of black wood that sits on the edge of a hill, moonlight shining down upon it. It feels real. It feels familiar, like a distant memory that's within the grasp of my mind, but I'm never close enough, like a word about to be spoken. It feels lonely.
The manor has massive windows with architecture from a time that is long gone, and in one of those windows sits a young, handsome boy, pale as the moon with curly hair dark as the vast emptiness of space, his eyes a shade of blue that may be mistaken for violet. He wears a flowing poet shirt that reveals a chiseled and broad chest and pants. He is perched on a windowsill looking at the moon. There is something about the way he looks that makes me feel sad, like he is yearning for something.
I hover closer to the window where he sits. This is a dream, and I'm in control, I tell myself. I watch him mesmerized, like a moth drawn to a flame, and no matter how hard I try to look away, I can't. This is a dream, I remind myself, but why do I feel my heart racing?
Suddenly the boy's eyes meet mine, and his face has an expression of utter disbelief. You have a wild imagination! I think to myself, feeling slightly startled at the turn of events. He's not real; THIS is not real!
As I watch intently, the boy suddenly stands on the edge of the window sill and steps off it. "Don't!" I yell, flabbergasted. However, unlike what would've happened to a normal human stepping off a window three stories up, this boy floats, effortlessly. He gets closer and closer till our faces are just inches away. His striking features seem sharper under the luminous moonlit sky, his curly black hair falling over his forehead. I feel a sudden urge to run my hands through those soft curls.
I see the same expression of disbelief on his face, but there's something else... hope. I see hope in his eyes. He puts a hand out to touch my face ever so slightly, like he doesn't believe I exist, the humor of which isn't lost on me because this is my dream! When his fingers touch my face, they feel cold, and he immediately pulls his hand back in shock and looks down at his hands. He looks up with his violet eyes staring deep into my soul and utters a name, "Noah..." in a voice that's gentle yet firm.
The name echoes all around me, but before I can say anything, I feel something tug on my back, and I'm ripped out of my dream abruptly. I jolt awake in bed.
